That said, we had a miracle happen this past month in our family. Shulamith wanted to wait until it was all over and she knew the outcome before she shared it with anyone, but with her permission, I would like to tell you about it now.
A couple of months ago, Shulamith learned that she was pregnant with their third child. This came as a big surprise to her and Matt, nevertheless a happy one because all babies are perfect gifts from Heaven, so even the surprise ones are happy surprises; just ask Luke and Shulamith, our two surprise babies! (After that, we somehow figured out how to plan our children). A Thanksgiving baby she would have, just in time for the holiday season. But about a month after she found out she was expecting, and right after the joy of Eli's wedding, an ultrasound revealed that the baby had stopped growing a couple of weeks earlier, and she would have a miscarriage.
She and Matt and I had just about 24 hours to process that shock, when her doctor called with more unfortunate news, news that would lead to a month of uncertainty, unanswered questions, high anxiety, and both physical and emotional trauma. Shulamith had a ridiculously rare condition called Placenta Accreta. It's rare enough in the third trimester, but it's basically unheard of in the first. Her wonderful doctor (and he truly is!) had never seen it in his 25+ years of OB/GYN practice. In this condition, the placenta from the current pregnancy intertwines into the scar tissue from previous C-sections, creating a serious risk for both hemorrhaging and internal bleeding. Treatment when it happens in the third trimester of a viable pregnancy is almost always a C-section followed by an immediate hysterectomy. When it happens in a first trimester miscarriage, well, no one really knows what to do then because it doesn't happen.
Except it did.
But that word: hysterectomy. It sort of hung over us, a shadow all around our lives. Shulamith's doctor asked if she and Matt were planning to have more children. Yes, yes of course they were! At least two more. And right there began the plan to do everything possible to treat this condition without surgery, because even a simple procedure would likely cause uncontrollable hemorrhaging and result in a hysterectomy. Her doctor called several different specialists around the state, none of whom had ever seen this condition in early pregnancy, but their consensus was to try a Methotrexate shot, a low dose of what they give cancer patients to kill cancer cells, in hopes this might kill any remaining placenta tissue and reduce blood flow to the region. And then to wait. Wait and see if the shot would work and if perhaps her body would take care of this on its own. The next day she had the shot, and the waiting began.
The problem with waiting is it's hard. Really hard. And scary. Especially when the doctor tells your daughter that at any moment she could begin to hemorrhage and need to be rushed to the hospital for emergency surgery. Especially then. Matt and I never left her alone from that point on. We slept with our clothes right next to our beds in case we'd need to rush out in the middle of the night. Day after day after day, we waited. Over and over she went in for blood draws to check her hematocrit (red blood cells) and HCG (pregnancy hormone) levels, and most importantly, ultrasounds to see if anything was changing. It wasn't. Day after day it looked exactly the same.
Emotions were crazy. Some days I'd go through all the grief stages, all in the same day. I'd wake up sad. Then I'd get angry. Then I'd end up right back in denial because this just couldn't be happening to my baby. In an especially bad moment, when I was sorta losing it, Shulamith said: “Why are YOU crying. You got to have all five of your kids.”
Yes, yes I did. And that is exactly why I'm crying. Because I did get to have all five of my kids, and you deserve to have all five of yours. Or four. Or three. Or six, or however many you and Matt decide you want. It's not fair that this stupid condition might take that away from you.
I just wanted to fix it. To take all her pain away. I felt so horribly helpless. Whoever said “A mother is only ever as happy as her saddest child” spoke pure, unadulterated truth.
A week ago, at around 5:00 a.m., my phone rang. Terror pulsed through my body, as I heard her tiny, frightened voice say, “I'm in the bathroom. I've been hemorrhaging, and I blacked out. Come downstairs and wake up Matt. We need to go to the hospital.” Functioning on autopilot, I did just that, and we were gone within minutes. Emergency room staff at the hospital took amazing care of her, but it was still so terrifying, especially when the doctor wouldn't let her eat anything, in case she would wind up in the operating room that day.
But here is the miracle.
Three days in the hospital and three units of blood transfused (including a crazy allergic reaction to the blood, which made her lips swell up so huge that she looked like she'd had way too many Botox injections) and finally some good news. No, not just good...great! Dare I say miraculous? The ultrasound showed that the shot had worked. Everything had cleared out of her body, and her HCG levels were dropping rapidly. She hadn't had any hemorrhaging in over 24 hours, and her hematocrit was up to a not-dangerous level. After three days, we were finally headed home. And no, she hadn't had any surgery. :-) :-) :-)
Six days have passed since then, and lab results from Monday indicate even more progress toward full healing and recovery. What will the future bring? Only God knows that. But based on everything her doctor can tell, there is no reason why she won't be able to have more children.
Miracle. It's not a word Pastor Karl or I use often. But I'm using it today.
Botox lips
Resting with Mom
They took over the bed!
